The Trunk
by Wallflow3r1
Summary: Beth, Daryl, and the trunk.
1. Chapter 1

Daryl Dixon ain't afraid of nothin'. But when he bursts from the woods onto the road, with Beth hot on his heels, hears the snarls and moans of walkers - many, many, many walkers - coming closer, and feels his entire body trembling from exhaustion, fear washes over him like he's just been thrown in an ice cold lake.

They're fucked.

There's an abandoned car, its driver lying dead next to it on the road, but of course the vehicle won't fucking start.

It's night, and thunder rumbles overhead. For a split second he stands there, gut churning as he drowns in the hopelessness of the situation. If it was just him he'd fight, hack his way through the walkers and take out as many of them as he could before he passed out. At least then it would be done. His eyes flick over to Beth. His throat tightens. If she wasn't here with him he isn't entirely sure that he wouldn't take on the next herd of walkers and go out fighting just to make it stop. But he can't, because of her. At this point she is the only thing keeping him moving forward, keeping him focused. He's here for her. Daryl sure as hell can't face losing anyone else today; he's already coming apart at the seams. But they're fast running the fuck out of options.

They gotta hide. Just try to hold out until morning. It's their only way forward. It's their only chance to stay alive.

Decision begrudgingly made, he circles round to the back of the car, keeping his crossbow raised and aimed despite the throbbing ache that's spreading down his arm.

Daryl yanks the already open trunk wider and waves her inside, keeping his eyes and crossbow trained on the dozens of walkers getting closer by the second as he climbs in after her. It's a tight fit. Even with her small frame, he watches as Beth curls in on herself, taking up as little room as possible.

Balancing on his haunches, he arches back and pulls the bent metal door down, but not closed. Leaning his crossbow next to him, he hastily grabs the rag from his pocket, threads it through the lock and ties it in place. His fingers are steady, adrenaline coursing through his veins, but even his best two half hitches knot isn't going to secure this battered hatch with the wind blowing like it is. It should hold for a moment though.

His eyes scan the trunk, searching for something he can use. It's nearly dark outside and what fading light is making its way inside might as well not bother because he can't see shit. A pale strip of light illuminates Beth's eyes as she watches the opening, hunting knife clutched tightly in her hand, her entire frame braced like she's ready to pounce. Her face is sort of mesmerising and he drags his eyes away when he realises they've settled on her.

His hand pats down the back of the trunk, starting behind his head and working his way across, desperately feeling for anything that he can use. When he reaches Beth, he leans over her to search her side of the trunk. Every trunk has cable ties. Where the fuck are the fucking cable ties? He grunts in frustration as he finds nothing. It's already been picked clean. Fuck.

He feels Beth's exhale as a rush of air flutters across his neck. Glancing down, it's only then that he realises he's all but lying on top of her, his chest pressing her onto her back. Another gush of warm breath strokes his neck. He can feel her breasts pressing up against his chest through his shirt as she breathes in. Her eyes are impossibly wide and even in the shadows he can see her face is flushed. She's watching him and he's suddenly very aware that he can feel her rabbiting heart beating against his own.

He sees a flash of lightening in his periphery and his mind is jerked back to the present. To the lack of cable ties. To the very real and very imminent herd of walkers that are about to pass the car and find them in the trunk unless he can keep it closed. Unless he can find something to secure it with.

Think, Dixon, think.

There's always something you can use. Most people just see things for what they're supposed to be but Daryl's always had to look at things for what they could be, in a pinch, if needed. That's one thing that was beaten into him from an early age; how to use your surroundings. If all else fails, use what you have.

That's it.

Daryl practically throws himself backwards, hands reaching to his belt and tearing it open.

He doesn't miss Beth's sharp intake of breath, his eyes flicking up to lock onto hers as he tugs his belt out of the loops. The worn soft leather catching as he slides it through.

Her mouth is slightly parted, cheeks flooding a deeper crimson as he catches her staring at his undone belt. She doesn't look frightened, as he might expect her to in the face of what he's doing, but maybe she passed frightened a couple of miles back. She looks decidedly curious.

"Don' get excited," he snaps, his voice a low rumble, "Jus' gonna use it t' lock us in."

Her cheeks flush again as she clutches her knife tighter and watches him. Shuffling on his hip, he undoes the rag and feeds the strap through in its place as quickly as possible. The door to the trunk lurches open a few gut wrenching inches before he yanks it back down and secures the buckle. He pushes at the roof of the trunk to test it, letting out a shaky relieved breath as it holds.

Thank fuck for that.

He rolls back onto his elbows, taking in a deep breath, closing his eyes and scraping his hands across his face and through his hair.

When he opens them, he catches Beth staring down at where his belt used to be. His eyes follow her gaze to find his jeans have slipped below his hips, exposing the taught muscles of his Adonis belt and the absence of any underwear. He reaches down and pulls the front of his jeans up before looking back across the trunk and locking eyes with Beth. Her face is flushed again and there's a heat in her gaze that makes something flare down his spine. Something he hasn't felt in a long fucking time.

Lightening sends another flash of light across her face, making her eyes appear luminous in the dark as they stare back into his. For a moment he's caught in her gaze like a deer in the headlights and he feels something flare a little south of his spine.

All at once, thunder crashes and then he hears the walkers – dozens and dozens of them – retch and gurgle as they begin to stampede past the car. He reaches for his crossbow instinctively as a fresh wave of fear rolls through him and settles in his gut. He clutches his bow because his life depends on it and aims it at the opening as they wait for a painfully tense moment to see if his belt is going to hold. If they're going to make it through the next five minutes, not to mention the night.

Shuffling shadows flit past the opening in the trunk and occasionally bump into the car, but don't linger. The belt is holding. They are hidden. They are almost safe, at least for now, which is mildly remarkable.

He knows how to make ugly situations work. He learned early.

He feels something akin to relief wash over him, flooding his veins. He turns his attention to Beth, finds her bunched over, holding her knife so tight her knuckles are white. He sets his crossbow down within arm's reach, before pillowing an arm behind his head and leaning back. For a moment he watches her.

"We're locked in, get some rest" he whispers, keeping his voice low.

Her head flies around to face him, expression tight but slowly unwinding as his words sink in. She twists her gaze back to the opening.

The thunder has ceased. The walkers are thinning out. Their moans are becoming sporadic, less incessant now.

She swallows hard enough that hears her throat click. For a few seconds there's nothing. She doesn't move a muscle, the hunting knife seeming to be an oddly grounding weight in her clenched fist, if the way she's clutching it is anything to go by, and her gaze becomes unfocused. She's no longer really watching the opening; he's sure that she's not really looking at anything at all.

"Beth," he says softly, like she's an animal he doesn't want to spook.

She jumps slightly and glances over at Daryl, taking a moment to meet his gaze, having clearly pulled her thoughts from somewhere else entirely.

"Get some rest," he repeats, very quietly, "They can't get in," he adds when she continues to stare back at him with those half wild eyes, clenching the knife so tight that her knuckles stand out white as bone.

She doesn't say anything, but he watches her grip on the knife go from vice like to just a loose hold.

He looks at her and she looks right back. Her eyes look very large and very bright and under her piercing gaze he somehow feels the pressure of forces that he can't hope to understand. Something is different. There's something different in the way that she's looking at him. In his gut he feels something is approaching. Daryl looks at her again and tries to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest that's threatening to get in the way of his breathing. He watches her as she sheaths her knife, slowly, carefully, perhaps even reluctantly, and lets out a breath like she's been holding it for an eternity.

He sort of can't stop studying her. Her brow is furrowed and he can practically hear her mind whirring, can read at least four different feelings on her face and none of them remotely good. On top of it all she looks as tired and as hungry as he feels. That sends a sharp stab of guilt piercing through his stomach because he kept pushing for them to move on, spent the whole day running and didn't find her anything to eat. He takes in her bright doe eyes, follows the line of her throat all the way down to the dip of her collarbones, the way her skin gleams in the strip of moonlight. He watches her and a low, sweet ache settles in his chest. Leaning back as far as the trunk will allow him, he closes his eyes and lays his forearm across his face so that he can't see her any more, but it does nothing to dull the fluttering spark of pleasure and need that's hit him like a punch to the jaw.

He lies in the darkness and just breathes. Startling silence surrounds him. For a moment there's absolute stillness.

He's barely caught his breath when he hears the loud crash of a walker smashing down onto the trunk just above Beth's head. His eyes fly open just as the door bounces down with the impact. He thinks his heart stops as he watches the whites of Beth's eyes expand in the strip of light cutting across her face. His entire body tenses as he prepares himself for what's about to happen.

Don't scream. Please, don't fucking scream. He implores her with every fibre of his being.

She doesn't. Instead Beth hurls herself across the trunk, landing on top of him. He has to bite his lip hard so that he doesn't moan as her hands come down hard on either side of his face, bringing them nose to nose while her knees straddle his hips. Her face is so close to his he can feel how warm her cheeks are.

His hands wrap around her waist and his hips jerk up as if by instinct, pushing himself up as she presses down against him. He hisses at the not entirely unpleasant feeling of having Beth Greene lying on top of him, her entire body pressing against his.

Her piercing eyes lock onto his and she doesn't move. For a moment neither does he. He merely looks at her. He sees something flickering in her eyes, almost glowing.

The soft smoothness and the warmth of her body is comforting and not smothering as he might expect. Daryl has never liked being touched and he doesn't like that she's touching him now. He doesn't. Except there's a traitorous part of him that is responding to the contrary. He's pretty sure that if she hasn't noticed that already then when she does their proximity is going to make her uncomfortable.

With his hand on her waist he lifts her easily, turning his own body at the same time and pushes her onto the floor of the trunk. Then he scoots back and all but shoves her face first towards his crossbow, putting as much distance between them as possible, which isn't much at all. They're crammed together like a couple of sardines, bodies scrunched parallel to one another, not touching but only just.

The wave of arousal that crashes through his body is immediately chased by a flood of exasperation. Been seeing Beth every day at the prison for god knows how long but his body chooses now to respond to her like she's the last woman on earth. Why? Seriously, what the fuck?

Because the universe refuses to give Daryl Dixon a fucking break.

In fact, this is the first time he can remember his body reacting like this to anyone. Daryl is no stranger to self-hatred, but the erection straining at his jeans barely an inch away from Beth's ass makes him feel like a total creep. He feels like the biggest creep in the universe.

She's so scared she's actually shaking. When that thought registers in his thick head his unwanted hard on stops straining, but it doesn't disappear completely. It takes him a moment to realise that he's shaking too, despite the warmth he's shivering slightly. It's just his body coming down from the adrenaline. At least that's what he tells himself. Merle would tell him to stop being such a Goddamn pussy. He'd tell Merle to fuck right off. But Merle ain't here. A lot of people ain't here no more.

Thing is, she should be scared. They're not safe out here. Nobody is safe anymore. They weren't safe in the prison and they sure as hell aren't safe out here. They're vulnerable. There's just the two of them, and it's not even the two of them really because she needs his protection. It's not her fault. She never once left the prison after they got there, never had to fight, stayed shielded behind its walls. She never had to protect herself, always had someone to do it for her. But now he's the only one left and that responsibility has fallen squarely on his shoulders. He's not angry at her, not really. It's the situation, but he feels the weight of it on his back and it's crushing. He almost wants to be angry at her, in a sick kind of way, just to have something to feel other than despair. But he's not. It takes energy, and he doesn't have a whole lot of that right now. He's so tired. He's physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted and failing her will be the end of him. He can't keep her safe out here without shelter. She's going to die and that's on him. He knows it and she knows it. He can feel his inevitable failure breathing down his neck every time he looks at her.

He's all kinds of tired and he just wants to sleep but he can't. It's not the ever present groaning of the dead or the flashes of lightening in the periphery that's keeping him slipping out of consciousness, no, it's Beth Greene's sharp uneven breaths like she's having a panic attack. He wants to be mad at her for keeping him awake, for being such a goddamn burden but each shaky inhale tugs at something in his chest. Part of him wants to yell at her and tell her to grow the fuck up but he's too damn tired and she's too damn tired. He doesn't have any fight left in him. He's stripped raw and he feels a crazy desire to soothe her. To hold her to him and tell her everything is going to be alright even though it sure as shit fucking isn't. But that's not her fault and she's scared shitless and he can't help himself when his arm reaches out and lands on her waist.

The trunk falls silent in an instant. Her chest stills for an uncomfortably long moment before rising slowly.

Maybe she feels better knowing she ain't alone out here. Maybe she's just trying not to piss him off.

Even though they're not touching he can feel her warmth against his body.

She radiates.

He can faintly hear her breathing, slow and rhythmic. He can feel her chest expand under his rough palm, still curled around the bottom of her rib cage, feels the soft smoothness of her skin radiating heat like she's on fire beneath it. He ought to move it. Touching her is making him feel strangely warm inside. Touching her is not helping his body to calm the fuck down and stop misbehaving in a way that makes him a total creep.

Reluctantly, and with great effort, he slowly lifts his hand.

Only to have it pushed back down, as her own much smaller hand grabs his. She doesn't say anything, just presses his palm back where it was against her waist and holds it there, trapped between the warmth of her body and the surprising heat of her palm.


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl can feel the heat of Beth's skin beneath his palm; it's warm like she's been out in the sun, even through her clothes. Her warmth is comforting, grounding even, and he finds his fingers curling around her waist. With each breath he gets a lungful of her hair. The faint smell of her shampoo still lingers under stronger notes of sweat and dirt. It's not altogether unpleasant. His tongue darts out to run across his bottom lip, and he can taste her in the air. They're so close, fitting like this, her back to his front, her ass almost in the cradle of his lap. 

Then she presses back and there is no almost. Her back flattens against his chest, closing the space between them. Heat radiates from her like she's a hot coal, her warmth spreading through his entire body

He hisses as her ass grazes the front of his jeans.

 _No_

With a grunt he pushes her back forward, hand sliding down to grasp her hip in an attempt to reinforce the shred of space between them.

He feels his gut tighten as arousal grabs him by the base of the spine. He's well on his way to hard again, barely concealed by his jeans as they ride low on his hips without the belt.

Seemingly oblivious, Beth rocks back into him and nudges his dick with her ass until he's twitching.

Daryl shudders. He shuffles backwards as much as he can, his shoulders pressing into the back of the trunk. His hand flies from her hip like he's been burnt.

He feels a rush of guilt and shame in his cheeks and he braces himself for her reaction. She might hit him. That would be fair. He almost wants her to, because at least then she'll be mad. The alternative is so much worse. The alternative is that she starts shaking again because he's taken away what little comfort she's found here and twisted it into something perverse.

She doesn't hit him. Scooting back, she presses into him again, trapping him between her warm body and the cold back wall of the trunk.

Her hand grabs his and drags it forward, wrapping it around her waist like before. Her ass seats itself of his cock, his straining hard on poking her through the soft fabric of his worn jeans.

For a moment neither of them moves a muscle. Not even to breathe. For a long moment they just lie there tightly pressed together.

Then he draws in a shaky inhalation, filling his lungs with her sweet scent, his chest expanding and pushing into her as she pushes back, squeezing their bodies even tighter together. Without meaning to, his hips jerk forward, seeking friction, and grind against her ass for a split second.

 _Fuck._

His stomach clenches. He freezes, going stiff as a board again as he fights for control of his body, his blood beginning to rage through his veins. He wants her, he wants her so bad and she's _right there._ His jaw clenches until his teeth ache. He can feel his heartbeat jackhammering in his chest and he wonders if she can to.

Mother _fuck._

Her grip tightens on his hand and she lets out a soft moan.

All of the breath leaves him in a gush, releasing into her unbound hair. He trembles as he tries to catch another. The guilt and shame are fading and steadily being replaced with crippling confusion. She's definitely not oblivious. There's no way in hell she doesn't feel his diamond hard cock pushing into her ass. Especially, when a moment ago he dry humped her like a dog.

But she's not _angry_. She's not _disgusted_. That _moan_ \- it was almost a whine - sent a shiver down his spine and straight to his cock. He heard something there, something a lot like need. She's not pulling away; she's pushing into him with almost a teasing wiggle. And in the back of his mind he _knows_ what that means, what she wants. He feels it in his gut, feels it in the burning heat pooling there. He felt it before, saw it in her gaze. Except another part of him, the remaining lucid part, tells him _there's no way in hell_. She just wouldn't. Even if she is, she doesn't mean it. It doesn't make any fucking sense.

There's just one thing.

The world stopped making sense some time ago. _If it ever did._

" _Girl_ ," He croaks. The voice that comes out sounds as tortured as he feels and he clears his throat.

Her head tilts back just enough to lock eyes with him. It's almost completely dark in in the trunk, but her eyes reflect light from somewhere, appearing luminous.

" _Daryl_ ," She breathes. Her eyes bore into his and his breath catches. For a moment he gets lost in her eyes, they're not pleading exactly, but there's longing. So much longing. She says his name like an incantation and he can't look away. He's caught in her orbit, feeling the sudden urge to close the minute distance between them.

Then she blinks, and the spell is broken.

He looks down and away, feels her eyes on the side of his face.

"Girl, you're jus' scared," he whispers.

Her grip on his hand loosens, but she doesn't move her hand. He can feel her watching him. She's thinking, rolling over what he just said. The moment stretches and then he can't help it, his eyes flick back up to hers.

She holds his gaze. She doesn't look irritated or scared, like he might expect. She looks thoughtful.

"Yeah, I'm scared. Aren't you?" She says softly. The heat is gone from her eyes but he can still feel it simmering just below the surface.

He looks down and away again, looks anywhere but at her. He shrugs. His arms rub against her with the motion, a gentle reminder of their proximity, which is both uncomfortable and comforting at once. He feels caught, trapped between her body and the car. Her body which is radiating heat, causing his body to instinctively wrap around her because it feels good to do so.

"I'm gonna die," she says quietly, not a trace of panic in her voice, just a simple statement of fact.

The words cut him deep, slicing into him like a dagger to the heart. His chest aches and he feels the unbearable urge to cry. _It hurts because it's true._ It hurts so much.

He goes to protest but she cuts him off.

"Don't," she shakes her head gently, her hand moving slightly over his, almost stroking, "Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow but eventually."

He stares back at her, not blinking. His throat suddenly feels unbearably dry.

Her lips curl into a small smile. He feels his brow furrow in confusion, anger never far away.

"But right now I'm alive."

His chest aches again. All the tension drains from his face and he just stares at her.

"I'm alive and I want you."

Her eyes catch his and burn, bright and, yes, so alive. He _gets it_. At least he thinks he does. Each moment of their lives now feels like they're living on borrowed time. That always felt like a curse to him. But she sees it as a _gift_. She wants to live while she still can. _That_ actually makes sense.

"Beth," He whispers, feeling his chest ache low and sweet as he says her name. Not _girl_. This is Beth and he somehow feels like he's only just seeing her for the first time.

And it's not because his dick is hard and pressed against her ass and she's telling him she _wants_ him. He doesn't think it's just that.

This is the first time he's seeing her. _Beth._ Not Hershel's baby girl. Not Maggie's kid sister. Not Judith's babysitter. Just her.

She's so _bright_.

She made it. She's alive and she wants to do something. She doesn't want to wait and have something happen to her, she wants to make her own choices. She wants to _do_.

Now she's looking at him like he's _something_ , and if he can be anything to her at all he'd be _honoured_.

He would be honoured to be that something.

"I want you." She says it again, her eyes flickering like a candle, burning with desire. He feels that desire roll down his spine and explode through his entire body. The heat of her body is suddenly scorching. His breathing is coming in shallow pants that do nothing to relieve the low sweet ache building in his chest.

 _I want you too. But I don't deserve you._

And there's fear. He feels his gut clench and tremble with it because she does want him, and he wants her. When two people want the same thing, at the same time, it has a way of happening. That sense of knowing, of _anticipation_ , floods his body with adrenaline.

"I want you," she repeats.

 _I don't deserve you_ _  
_ _but maybe_ _  
_ _that's not my choice to make_

Everything stops. He can't hear anything. The storm, the walkers, the whole damn world has gone away. There's just him and there's just her, holding their breath. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears and he imagines that it's hers.

In this moment it feels like there is nothing else. That maybe she is the last girl, and he is the last man. Maybe all they have is each other. Maybe all they _need_ is each other. The world out there can go to hell. _It already has._

"I want you," she says it again, blinking back at him, her eyes the same calm blue they always are. She's relentless.

The air feels electric, maybe from the storm, he doesn't know. A flash of lightning cuts a band of light across her face. A boundless energy hangs in the air between them. He feels her breath flutter across his throat, as he exhales through his nose at the same time, their chests expanding together as they breathe in unison.

Now she's staring at him with barely caged need in her eyes. There isn't a shred of self-doubt. This isn't teenage daring, not just. Whatever this is, she means it. She wants him. He can see that. He can _feel_ it in the heat of her gaze.

He can feel it in the air between them as he stares right back at her, his own need coming off of him in waves.

And in that moment his resolve crumbles.

He stops fighting her, because he was never really going to put up much of a fight was he? He can't keep her safe, but he can give her this. He can give her _him_ , if that's what she wants to do. There's no one left to tell her what to do now. Not her daddy, not her sister. They're all gone. It's time for her to make her own choices. He can let her make this choice for herself, instead of making it for her. He can let _her_ decide what she's going to do now, with her life, while she has one.

"I want you, Daryl," she whispers.

His hand is on her jaw, tilting her face up and then his mouth covers hers in a silencing kiss. 


	3. Chapter 3

Beth lets out a little moan and Daryl licks his tongue into the wet heat of her mouth as it opens beneath him. Her hand reaches up, threading into his hair and gripping it roughly; fisting so hard he feels his scalp sting. His desperation matching hers, he tightens his hand on her jaw, crushing their mouths together in a biting kiss.

As they part for air, he rests his forehead against hers, breathing harshly into each other's mouths. His eyes lock with hers for a split second, sees her pupils yawning with lust, before she presses her lips back against his.

He bites her bottom lip and pulls it out, enjoying the feel of it plump and juicy between his teeth. She moans, this one lower and aching with pleasure, rippling with promise. His tongue slides back into her mouth, licking her teeth as he devours her lips in another claiming kiss. Her little pink tongue darts out, poking into his mouth shyly, and he sucks on it eagerly, tasting her and relishing the feel of her warm and pulsing inside him.

When their mouths part again, his eyes drop to her lips, finding them swollen and bitten pink as she pants harshly against the corner of his mouth. A shudder of arousal runs through him in the knowledge that he did that to her and he growls low in his throat, a part of him wanting to bite and mark every inch of her soft and supple flesh.

"Touch me," she whispers, so close he feels her lips move against his skin and her hot breath across his jaw.

She's grinding herself slowly against his cock, all the hesitation is gone, her whole body now feels like it's his to play with.

He mouths his way across her jaw and as he does so his hand follows the line of her throat, stroking over the ridges of her oesophagus before cupping the base of her neck. He presses an open mouthed kiss onto the soft space beneath her jaw and licks the salt from her skin over her pulse point. He feels the lurid pumping of her pulse against his tongue and his own blood rages around his body. Her beating heart a jarring reminder of her precious life and its impermanence.

 _I'm alive and I want you._

He rests his closed mouth against her neck, feeling her pulse scream under his lips. The tenacity of her heartbeat makes his chest ache with a different kind of want. Something much more dangerous than lust.

 _I'm going to die._

His movements become desperate and harried, as every second feels as though it's passing too quickly. A dark awareness that they only have _right now_ taking root in his chest; the evanescence of the whole damn thing setting in like rot. It's the _knowing_ that twists in his gut like a knife.

Mouthing at her neck almost reverently, he sucks soft wet kisses down to her open shoulder. His eager hand rakes over her clothed chest, before slipping under her shirt and sliding up the warm skin of her taut stomach. He hears her breath catch in the back of her throat as his big rough palm finds the soft mound of her breast. His thick fingers tease her nipple, pinching the hard nub between them until she keens.

A flash from outside sends a strip of light across their tangled bodies. Staring down, he takes in the contrast of his tanned hand against the pale skin of her chest. The fabric of her threadbare vest is so thin its damn near see through, she may as well not wear it. She might as well be naked. And that thought has his dick straining against his jeans, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

His teeth graze the skin of her shoulder, teasing, as the pads of his fingers circle her peaked nipple, and the sound she makes is rough and strained. Haltingly, she stops grinding back into him. He almost whines at the loss of friction until he feels her arms move in quick deliberate motions, unfastening her belt and shoving her jeans down, dragging her panties along with them.

He sucks in a breath and then freezes as a heady sweet scent abruptly invades his nostrils. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, throat suddenly bone dry and he can taste her wetness in his mouth. His eyes flutter closed and he trembles, as the evidence of her desire for him is almost too much, shaking him to the core

His hand falls down her body, as if propelled by his arousal or summoned by hers, to cup her mound, and dip his fingers into her wet curls. Daryl growls in the back his throat, his mouth vibrating against her skin. She's _dripping_. He feels her slick running down her soft inner thighs as they clench around his wrist, seeking the friction of his palm. The pad of his index finger nudges her clit and he feels her shudder beneath his hand. His nostrils flare, breathing harshly through his nose as his head spins and his hips jerk forward, grinding his clothed cock into her bare ass. He traces the line of her pussy lips, his fingers gliding through her slick and another growl rumbles in his throat, vibrating from his chest into her back.

Her small delicate hand covers his scarred knuckles and she pushes into his palm with a throaty moan that he feels shudder against his lips as he mouths at her neck. He slips his index finger inside her wet heat, and at the same time as he grinds his hips forward. Beth's head falls back against his shoulder and she sighs against his temple.

He feels her mouth open in a silent scream against his skin as he fucks his thick finger in and out of her soaking wet cunt. He's half way to undone when her pussy walls tighten and clench around his knuckle as she tries to suck him deeper inside. His jaw locks as a tremor runs through his entire body.

Beth whimpers as he slides his finger out of her, smearing a trail of slick across her hip and jerks his hips back. The muscles of his arms flex against her back as he slides his hands into the gap between their bodies. He pushes his jeans down easily, hissing as his cock lurches free, steel hard and oozing in the space between them. He wraps his hand around his pulsing erection and squeezes, grating out a breath as the welcome pressure walks a thin line between pain and pleasure.

He feels her heated stare on the side of his face, and her breath feathering his cheek. Looking up slowly, he finds her twisting around to look at him. There's something like trepidation in her lust blown eyes. He swallows, his hand settling on her hip lightly, rubbing her slick across the jutting bone there.

"You done this before?" He murmurs, pulling back just enough to catch her gaze.

She looks slightly startled, eyes widening as they hold his. He draws in a breath and watches her heaving chest do the same.

Anxiety starts to creep up his spine and he says a prayer to a God that he doesn't believe in. Whether he wants her answer to be yes or no he doesn't truly know himself but with each passing second he's finding it harder to breathe. Then she answers.

"Yeah," she whispers, more breath than voice.

A cascade of feelings wash over him all at once. Relief. Excitement. Envy. Jealousy. He wants to ask her about it. He wants to ask her _who_ and _when_. He wants to _know_. He wants to know if they treated her right. He wants to know who he needs to kill if they didn't. Who is he kidding? He wants to kill them either way. But now isn't the time, and it really isn't any of his fucking business anyway.

"Well, not _this_ ," she says, hushed, an amused grin tugging at her mouth, "but I have done _it_."

Daryl holds her gaze, for a moment, just taking her in. The eyes staring back at him are striking, reflecting light from God knows where and appearing luminous. Even here in the dark, she radiates. He didn't see it before but here with everything stripped away there's just her and _she's_ glowing.

 _I'm alive_

He's curled around her like he would a fire; absorbing her heat, illuminated by the light of her flames. Curled around her like this, he's never felt so warm in his fucking life. He knows it's not just his body that is warming to her; she's warming him from the inside out. He is also guiltily aware that he isn't giving her anything back, and in time he's just going to watch her go out. Nothing lasts out here anymore. No matter how much you want it to. Daryl Dixon knows how to keep a fire going, it was beaten into him from an early age. But out here she's like a candle in the wind, one strong gust will blow her out because _he can't keep her safe_. That gust won't take him with her, oh no, he knows that in his bones somehow. Just as he knows he's going to miss her so bad when she's gone.

Self-doubt stabs him in the gut. Lying here, touching her like this, he starts to feel overwhelmed with how _undeserving_ he is. He wasn't and could never be worthy of her warmth. Not in the world before and not now. He feels it like a hand around his throat. And yet she's giving it to him anyway: her warmth, her body, _everything_.

 _That's not your choice to make._

She somehow senses the moment he starts to second guess himself but she doesn't give him a chance to do that; just blinks at him, her bright doe eyes burning into his. There's a sharpness behind those eyes that tells him she ain't no fucking deer. She ain't _prey._

"Please, Daryl," she whispers, " _I want this."_

 _I want this too._

He doesn't think he's ever wanted anything as much as he wants this. The ache in his chest spreads throughout his entire body as her eyes hold his and burn. He realises he's about to sink and fall and drown in those ocean blue eyes. This will change everything. He nods.

Being here with her - alive, remarkably and whole - he thinks that maybe life _is_ a gift. For the first time in his whole damn life he feels lucky to be alive. _Huh._

They both gasp as he slides the head of his cock down between her ass cheeks to her wet pussy lips. She wiggles her jeans down her thighs and pulls her knees apart as his strong hand guides her leg up, positioning her and opening her to him.

He rubs his cock along her slit, mixing his pre cum with her slick as he glides back and forth along her entrance, dragging gasps from her throat. His hold on her hip tightens, his hips rock forwards and his cock catches on her hole as she spreads her thighs wider and arches back into him. He has to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out when he buries himself in her. She does cry out.

A breath forces itself out of him as he buries himself to the hilt. _Jesus Christ._ She said she'd done _it_ before but he wonders if maybe she was lying because her cunt is tight enough to snap his dick off. His hand on her thigh trembles as he draws back, pulling almost completely out of her and then thrusts back inside her tight wet heat. Daryl growls and starts to build up a rhythm – slow, deep thrusts that he feels all the way up his spine, as he fucks out every sound and whine stuck behind Beth's teeth.

He has to clamp his palm over her mouth because she's getting louder with each moan, and straight away he misses the sound because Beth's moans are the hottest thing he's ever heard. He has to cut her off because he doesn't want to die tonight, and the main reason is quickly becoming because he definitely wants to fuck Beth again. He doesn't want this to end. He wants this to begin. Maybe they're not the last girl and the last man, maybe this isn't the end of the world, maybe this is the beginning and they are the first girl and the first man in this new world.

Daryl fucks her with brutal intent, seething with animal ferocity as something snaps and he loses himself in her. The trunk is filled with the sound of their harsh breaths and the slap of skin on skin as he pounds into her, each thrust as unrelenting as the last, his balls slapping against her wet curls. There's a roughness in how he handles her that doesn't fit with his flimsy grasp of what _intimacy_ is supposed to look like. He doesn't just fuck her, he _takes_ her and he _fucks_ her. Except he has never felt closer to another person in his whole Godforsaken life.

He's getting close, his orgasm pooling in his stomach and tightening, sharpening with every one of Beth's harsh breaths and desperate moans. He feels the moment she goes to liquid, a shudder that runs all through her skin and bones. She's shaking all over as she comes.

He cants his hips desperately, fucking into her harder and harder until all the tension explodes. Daryl tilts his head and bites down on Beth's exposed neck, wrenching another desperate, needy sound from her chest. As his teeth sink into her throat her pussy walls contract around his dick, squeezing him tightly in the vice of her folds. He comes hard, his orgasm rattling through his body and wiping out all conscious thought as he fills her, emptying himself inside her until there's nothing left.

Daryl goes slack and he collapses, still wrapped around her to the point that he doesn't know where her body ends and his begins. He feels his spent cock slip out of her, resting against her smooth warm skin in a sticky mess of their come. He nuzzles into the dip of her collar bone, and lazily wraps a solid arm around her waist, holding her flush against him. Everything gets fuzzy around the edges, and then he slips out of consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

When Daryl wakes, the warmth against his chest is jarring until he realises that it's radiating from Beth's back. Her skin is pulled tight over her shoulder blades just a breath away from his mouth, bone-white like coals burning hot. His fingers twitch where they rest curled tightly around her waist and the movement causes his knuckles to nudge against the soft, warm hand covering his.

He stills. The shallow rise and fall of her chest tells him she's sleeping deeply and he doesn't want to disturb her. She needs the rest. But it's not just that. His body comes to a grinding halt as his semi-conscious brain tries to make sense of his surroundings.

There's a warm glow creeping in through a thin line in front of him. After the moment it takes his eyes to adjust, the line comes in to focus as the inside of a battered trunk and that image quickly yanks him in to full consciousness. His registers his belt buckle holding the door closed and he finally releases the breath he'd been clinging to. _It held._ The warm glow that's continuing to creep in calms his uneasy heart as morning announces itself and by doing so tells him _they made it._

As his awareness broadens out he realises that he can't hear anything except for the sound of Beth's gentle breaths. He can't hear the unwelcome groans and shuffles of walkers which also tells him that _the herd passed._ Closing his eyes, he buries his face in the waterfall of blonde waves in front of him.

Relief and the lingering sweetness of Beth's shampoo flood his senses as he fills his lungs. They're alive. They're safe, or whatever passes for safe now. As his body's threat systems slowly come down, it is only then that he fully registers that he is curled around Beth's sleeping frame, holding her to him tightly like she might slip away at any moment.

Becoming aware of his body even further, his stomach drops out through the balls of his feet when he realises that his jeans, _their jeans,_ are bunched around his thighs and his cock is nestled between hers.

 _Fuck._

He remembers, all at once and so vividly his breath catches and his cock twitches. His body runs hot and cold with guilt and arousal as he watches his hand cupping her jaw, feels his cock thrusting inside her. Over and over. He licks his tingling teeth as he recalls the moment he came undone, claiming her bared throat and filling her quivering pussy with his seed.

His eyes hone in on the angry red teeth marks that brand her throat even in the pale morning light. The sight causes his blood to run hot and his gut to shudder at the unwelcome arousal he feels seeing his mark on her body.

She isn't his.

She isn't anybody's anymore.

He lets his gaze fall to where her lily white fingers cover his knuckles. Compared to his, her hand is tiny and glows where it rests against his dirt and sun stained skin. Her fingers are rigid where they hook into his palm, anchored to him in sleep in a way he finds strangely settling.

Only he's not sure he should. His stomach tightens with anxiety because she might not want him to touch her like this. She did last night, asked him to even, but she might feel differently when she wakes up. She might regret the whole thing.

Except that's not her. She doesn't say things that she doesn't mean. She told him she wanted him and she meant it. He knows that, but it does nothing to loosen the knot in his stomach that last night is something they can't come back from. Propelling them forward to something new and unknown. Everything has changed and Beth was the last irreplaceable piece of their life before that he had left.

She's family, the one that taught him what that word really means. Not blood but a group of people he'd take a bullet for. She's all that's left of it, and that thought is so painful he has to push it aside for now.

He came to know her on the farm, out on the road and in the prison. So, why is it that he suddenly feels like he doesn't really know her at all? He wonders how he never saw her until now. She was right in front of him all this time but somehow he didn't see this beautiful, brave fucking girl. She's everything he's not and if he thinks on it much longer he might start to wonder who was saving who when they ran away from the ruins of their home together.

He feels the moment she wakes when she stills in his arms. His heart stutters in his chest.

 _Moment of truth._

Her entire body jerks and she pulls herself up onto her elbows frantically, each and every muscle winding too tight as panic fills her blood with adrenaline. Head spinning from side to side, her eyes fly around the trunk desperately until they meet his, and they still.

He feels her body relax instantly against his chest where his own heart is now threatening to fly out from behind his ribcage. She turns to face him. Relief smoothes her brow, softening her eyes as a small smile lights up her face. He feels the warmth of that smile in his chest and it shoves at the guilt taking root in his stomach.

It's small, just the corners of her mouth turned up, but every bit of it is for him. She looks relieved, and she should be – to be alive, even not to be alone. But it's more than that – when her eyes meet his she looked _pleased_ that it's him she finds _._ Confusion grabs him by the throat as she holds his gaze and presses into his body, bringing herself flush against him again.

He's frozen as he watches her silently seek comfort in the closeness of his body – _in him_. He's really fucking grateful for the unbroken silence as his mind whirs and haphazardly attempts to process a situation that he doesn't understand or have any frame of reference for.

His body is twitching at the weird but not unpleasant feeling of having Beth burrowing into his chest. He doesn't understand why she would want this, but she does. So he lets her. And it isn't hard to do.

She pillows her head against his chest, hot breath streaming across the hollow of this throat, and he couldn't tell you why he does it, but he gingerly rests his chin on her crown. There's something about her proximity that has his nerves twitching and jangling just under his skin.

It's not entirely comfortable and yet at the same time he doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to move and he really doesn't want her to untangle herself from where she's nestled against his torso. Feeling her curled around his chest, he marvels at how their bodies are perfectly aligned. They fit as though they were made for each other, sliding together like pieces of a puzzle.

His hand finds the small of her back, fingers spreading to span the soft bare skin beneath them. There's no heat in it, though there so easily could be. No, his fingers are exploring the landscape of her body because they want to know her. In the wake of her smile he thinks he's allowed somehow, as though the curve of her lips invited him to do so.

That in this shared silence their bodies are talking to each other. His thick fingers stroke soft circles down the curve of her lower back and fall into the spaces her muscles dip. In this new world Beth not only allows his touch she returns it. Soft fingertips trace the hard corded muscles of his arms in something like fascination, exploring him with a hesitant curiosity that mirrors his own.

There's silence except for her heartbeat answering his and the steady rhythm of their breathing. With every inhale his chest presses against hers and he feels her hot breath tickle his collar bone as she softly exhales. Back and forth. Over and over. Their bodies conversing peacefully with an ease their minds haven't caught up to.

Here in this moment there is nothing else. The world shrinks down to him and her, and, remarkably, he thinks that he could be ok with that. _More than ok,_ maybe. They don't speak. They just lie in each other's silences as the dawn outside blooms and seeps inside.

Daryl appreciates silences, has always found comfort in the spaces between words. With their bodies pressed so tightly together he feels her heartbeat gradually fall in line with his until they're beating in unison.

 _We're alive._

They share the unbroken silence as the sun rises, and somehow it feels so much more intimate to him than last night's frenzied union. That was sharing their bodies. Admittedly, in a breath-taking release of tension that he really fucking hopes will happen again, but at the same time if it doesn't then he can live with that.

This is something more and his spine is tingling with the unfamiliar tenderness of it. They stay like that for a while, until the sun has risen fully into the sky and the light has lost its warm glow. When the bird's unarguable chorus can be heard in the distance their inhales deepen and their bodies start to stretch of their own accord.

When Beth starts to pull her jeans up her thighs before Daryl's hand cover hers and stops her. Her eyes fly up to his and she blinks up at him with a slow question. Gnawing on his bottom lip he pulls the handkerchief from his back pocket and, with a shaky inhale, reaches between her thighs.

Her eyes flare and ripple like waves on an ocean he's never seen as he gently cleans his cum – _their cum-_ from the apex of her thighs. She continues to stare unblinking as he returns the rag to his back pocket. If her eyes were luminous in the slithers of moonlight they are shining back at him now so brightly it's mesmerising but he can't look away.

When the intensity of her gaze becomes too much his lip catches between his teeth and as though sensing his discomfort, she blinks. Once they've pulled their jeans up, Daryl goes about unfastening his belt from the opening. Crouching beside him, Beth unsheathes her knife and holds it up, ready to take out the silent walker they both fear is waiting for them.

His wary eyes flick to hers before he pulls his belt free and the trunk lurches open with a loud groan. The sudden burst of sunlight bleaches out his vision for a harrowing second, forcing his eyes shut before he pries them open to squint at their surroundings. Finding the coast clear, Daryl pushes the trunk further open and hops out.

He holds a hand up for Beth to wait as he simultaneously scans the road and loads his bow. With his crossbow raised, his darting eyes give the road and the treeline another once over before he turns back to Beth, stooped in the trunk still with her eyes trained on his face.

When he's convinced that none of the corpses he can see are reanimated he holds his hand out to her. She takes it with a crooked smile, climbing out quickly and scanning their surroundings in his place as he hastily threads his belt through his jeans.

Shouldering his bow, he turns to find her sheathing her knife and pushing her shoulders back. Her long swan neck rolls out the tension and as her head tips back his eyes catch the teeth marks on her pale skin. He's drowning in guilt and arousal when she turns and gives him a searching look.

 _Where do we go from here?_

He holds her gaze and watches her eyes flicker as he threads his fingers through hers. Out here in the pale dawn she's pure light. When she smiles up at him even the weight of his bow feels lighter.

Tightening his grip on Beth's hand, he tugs her towards the treeline and the familiarity of the woods. In truth he has no idea where they're going or what's in front of them, but for the first time since they started running he isn't filled with dread. When Beth's hand squeezes his he feels a ripple of something akin to excitement pass through him.

 _We made it. We're alive.  
_  
Self doubt is quick to crawl in through the cracks and rattle his spine with uncertainty. _But you can't keep her alive, not out here_.

No.

He no longer accepts that. Maybe before, but not in the new world they've just christened. When she looks back at him, eyes bright and shining, he doesn't see failure anymore. No, he sees hope, hope that's seeped in and is taking root.

 _Watch me try._


End file.
